


Four Quarters.

by Sententiae



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sententiae/pseuds/Sententiae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kasamatsu and Kise's relationship can be divided into four quarters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Quarters.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oryx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/gifts).



Kasamatsu Yukio is used to everything in life fitting neatly into four quarters. There are four seasons, after all, and each one determines whether Yukio has to practise inside or whether he can use one of the run-down courts near his house. There are even four quarters o a perfectly sliced orange, with each slice chock full of the right amount of vitamins to get him through a quick bench break.

There are four terms to the school year. Four other boys who share the basketball court with him in that breath-taking moment right before the ball is set on fire and the first bell sounds. 

Four quarters in which to win the world.

Kise, for all his flair and brilliant smiles, is no different to the flirtation between spring and the coming heat of summer, no different to the sweet swell of a perfect orange. Kise is the frustration that comes from having to balance practises in exam season, the opposition who threatens to throw a well-thought out game plan that pulls on the strengths of all the players on court into utter disarray.

Even Kise has to do things by quarters, because the universe has a firm grip on time and there are some things even puppy dog eyes cannot change. 

The difference for Yukio is that Kise – against all logic – stupidly somehow manages to end up becoming Yukio’s whole.

But they get there in quarters, and none of them are particularly easy to sit through. 

 

 **[1st Quarter]**  
Yukio has been at the gymnasium for the past three hours. It is their first home game of the season, and he has some ghosts he needs to shake off before he allows himself to be consumed by the game proper. They haunt Yukio as he practises sprints, whispering threats into his ears as he takes shot after shot. He twists and shoots and dodges, pirouetting one moment only to side step the next, and yet somehow Yukio manages to only spin the ghosts closer, drawing them in beneath his skin. They are always at their worst when there is silence, synching to the bounce-bounce-bounce of the ball against the court until they become a mantra.

It is easier, Yukio likes to pretend, when the others slowly start to turn up and Yukio is able to fill the gymnasium with a more purposeful kind of noise. He barks orders with precision, cutting through the taunts in his head (from the ghosts in the stands) with well thought out plans and the quiet sense of confidence that comes from being on point. 

He can do this. _They_ can do this. Yukio has spent months planning for this very match, as long as they do all the pre-game basics then even Yukio should be able to keep his calm –

And there is still another hour before the game is supposed to start. Plenty of time. 

Half an hour. No need to panic, not yet. Incompetence slips in when you panic, and there is no longer any room in Yukio’s game for that.

Twenty minutes.

Ten.

Yukio slams his fist against the wooden frame of the gym door, feeling the vibrations rattle through his fist and splinter up his arm. 5 minutes before the game is supposed to start and the gym swells with fans and players alike. 5 minutes before the game is supposed to start and almost everything is in place.

Yukio is going to kill him. No, he’s going to gut him first, shave off all his precious hair, and THEN he’s going to slowly torture him to death. 

Yukio hears the screech of tires and the slamming of a car door, and then a mess of blond and blue comes sprinting down the pathway. Kise comes to a rough stop in front of him, eyes darting between Yukio’s stone expression and the arm stretched across the doorframe, locking Kise out.

“I can explain,” Kise offers weakly. His smile may work on some of the silly girls who follow him around, but it only serves to enrage Yukio even more.

“One reason, Kise,” Yukio snarls, the muscles in his arm tensing. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t tear you to pieces right now.” He’s lost control of his breathing, and his eyes narrow in as the full absurdity of the boy in front of him reveals itself, one Max Factor commercial at a time. “Are you wearing eyeliner?!” Yukio can barely force the words out over his clenched teeth. This is their first game of the season and this idiot looks like he’s just stepped off of a photo shoot.

...

He. Is going. To kill. Him.

“I’ll make it work better,” Kise promises with a flash of white teeth, his mouth quirking upwards into something far too playful given that this is more than life or death - this is _basketball_. Yukio feels his blood scorching up through his skin, and he clenches his fingers tightly into a fist. While punching Kise in the face would so wonderfully smear his ridiculous make up (make-up! Sportsmen wear blood and tears and NOTHING else!), Yukio runs the risk of smudging some of it into Kise’s eyes. For better or worse, Kise needs those for the next forty minutes.

He settles for a short, sharp jab to the stomach instead. 

“Ha, ha,” Kise laughs hoarsely, because he is an even bigger idiot than Yukio has been graciously giving him credit for so far. “I guess I deserved that.”

“I haven’t even started yet.” Eyeliner and earrings and what Yukio thinks with disgust might just be a hint of blush. And yet, somehow Kise has found time to change into his kit on the ride over, and there is a line of tension running across his shoulders and down his back that Yukio can appreciate. “ _I_ will make this work.” Yukio shoots him a look of disgust. “ _You_ cannot be trusted.” 

They do make it work, in a way. Yukio yells at Kise as he cleans the court floor post-match, barking commands and insults while drawing up a timetable for Kise that fixes all his superficial activities around his training sessions and games. Kise, for his part, actually sticks to it. Hell, Kise seems to actually like it.

It’s the start of a very odd relationship. 

 

 **[2nd quarter]**  
It’s 7am. Sweat pours from Yukio’s forehead as he attempts another 2-pointer, the ball slipping through damp hands and hitting nothing but air. He has been here for a good half an hour, burning off wayward adrenalin and cramming in as much practise as he can before school starts. The mornings are always perfect like this, quiet and cool and free of all distractions-

“You always practise so hard.” Kise’s airy voice flitters from the doorway. Yukio collects the ball on its second bounce, coiling in his agitation as he turns to face his team-mate. Kise is backlit by the morning sun, streaks of light filtering through the golden strands of his hair.

Meanwhile, Yukio is a mess of sweat and body odour. Fantastic. 

“Of course,” Yukio grunts, bouncing the ball a couple of times before throwing a fast, low pass at Kise. If Kise thinks that he can enter the gym as a mere bystander, then he’s got a lot to learn. Yukio never passes on an opportunity to play against quality opposition. “The only way I’m ever going to be the best that I can be is through practise.” They are not all born pillars of blond athleticism. ‘

“Best you can be? Don’t you mean it’s the only way you will be the absolute best?” Kise asks, genuinely curious as he tosses the ball lazily back. A smile flirts at the corner of Kise’s mouth. “It’s not like you to aim small.”

So simple, yet it’s always people like Kise – people with all the talent in the world – who never seem to understand.

Yukio throws a hard pass back to Kise, who barely collects the ball in time.

“How can I be the best in the world if I can’t be the best of myself, first?” He nods over expectantly at Kise, waiting for a pass that never comes. Instead, Kise taps his fingers against the ball thoughtfully, his head dipped to the side. 

“You always put such an interesting spin on things, Kasamatsu-senpai.” The comment causes Yukio to grind down on his back teeth, but there is no ridicule in Kise’s tone. He’s noticed a slight change in Kise these past few weeks, a tendency for his arrogance to sometimes give way to reflection. Yukio allows himself to relax, giving his underclassman the time he clearly needs. “Do you think then that it’s wrong to measure your strength against someone else, even if it leads to you growing as a player?” Kise finally adds when his mouth catches up with his thoughts. 

Yukio snorts. Oh, hell. “Let me guess, this is about that Aomine guy.” Kise’s gaze darts up, surprised. It is _always_ Kise’s ex-team mate. The sun rises and the moon sets out of Aomine’s arse, very possibly at the same time.

Kise laughs, passing the ball to Yukio with one hand as he stretches the other apologetically up behind his head. “I hadn’t realised I’d made it so obvious,” he admits. 

“It’s pathetic,” Yukio says bluntly. “It’s like you idolise him on one breath, and have a personal vendetta against him the next. Does he even know who you are?”

“Ouch!” Kise replies good naturedly. “Although, you’ve got to admit,” Kise adds, proving that he will forever be a lost cause, “there are worse people to inspire to be like than him.”

Sometimes, Kise can be so thick. 

“But it means you will only ever be as good as he is.” Yukio rolls his eyes. “And you accused me of aiming small.” Yukio spins on his heels and take a shot at the hoop. The ball doesn’t feel right the moment it passes through his fingers, and he isn’t surprised when it bounces off the ring and back over his head. Still, Yukio knows – believes down to his bones – that it is perseverance that will carry him through to greatness. He turns to retrieve the ball-

\- and Kise breezes past him, nothing but a blur as he rises high into the air and dunks the ball with such precision that Yukio is left breathless. By the time Kise lands (soundlessly, or maybe it’s just that all of Yukio’s senses have shut down), Yukio feels as though he has lived and died in that one breath. Yukio isn’t poetic enough to describe the way Kise plays, but he knows that even like this, there is a beauty to Kise’s play that makes a mockery of every modelling show Kise has ever done.

Today, with the light dusting of sunlight streaking across the floor and in the quiet of the early autumn morning, Yukio finds it difficult to turn away.

“If I’m ever half as good as you are, Kasamatsu-senpai, then I’ll be happy.”

A muscle twitches in Yukio’s cheek, and the moment is thankfully lost. That doesn’t even make sense. Kise has more talent than Yukio knows (bitterly, sometimes) he will ever have.

And the bastard hasn’t even turned around. Is he ... is Kise _posing?_

Yukio lands a kick square on Kise’s rump, sending the other boy sprawling onto the court with a yelp.

“Whatever,” Yukio grumps, glaring down as Kise rubs his hip with obnoxiously good cheer. “Just get your arse up and pass me the ball. I’m here to practise, not philosophise.”

Kise turns up the next morning before class to practice with Yukio, and the morning after that. Yukio doesn’t bother to ask why. 

 

 **[Intermission]**  
Yukio isn’t entirely sure when this whole social aspect enters into their relationship. One moment they’re meeting up to practise before and after school, and the next their days have been stretched out to include drinks or – even worse – a meal. It isn’t that Kise isn’t a good conservationist, because heaven forbid Kise ever find something he isn’t a natural at.

It’s just that Yukio had never intended to become friends with the celebrated golden boy, especially given how odd Kise truly is. Others see the perfect hair and the brilliant basketball shots that would be impossible for (almost) anyone else, but they never really get the chance to get a deeper look into who Kise is beneath all of that crap – not that Yukio particularly wants to, either. There is Kise’s twisted sense of humour and his inability to hold a grudge, not to mention an unparalleled need to cram every second of his day with something – be it modelling, basketball, or noodles. But all that is practically normal compared to Kise’s insatiable need to feel challenged. It’s like there is an endless pit in Kise that needs to be constantly filled, and Yukio is one of the few who ever notices when it starts to dry up. There are brief moments in the year when they can’t practise basketball or Kise doesn’t have a shoot to attend. A normal person, Yukio grumbles, would enjoy those sparing periods of down time, but Kise instead starts to fray around the edges, losing some of his bright light and direction. It’s uncomfortable to see, especially as Kise seeks out anything that may replace that feeling.

Modelling, as pathetic as it is, is a better alternative to some of the other things Kise has occasionally threatened to flirt with.

And so, they have lunch. Or catch a movie. Or do absolutely nothing, which pisses Yukio off as much as Kise seems to enjoy it. 

Somewhere along the line, their little interludes become almost as important as their impromptu basketball practises.

Almost.

 

 **[3rd Quarter]**  
Yukio rocks his chair impatiently back and forth, the metal legs scratching across the floor each time he slams downwards. What the hell is taking them so long? A simple check-up, Coach had suggested. Just to make sure Kise’s foot was still a foot and not a mush of once-upon-a-bones, Coach had suggested. The idiot will be fine, Coach had promised.

They’ve been sitting at the hospital for four hours. His team mates are sprawled across the hard, formless chairs that invade all hospital rooms. There are only so much tinny cups of coffee you can drink before the walls start to blur together and the waiting patients and families start to morph into one blob. 

To hell with this.

The next time Yukio rocks the chair forward he steps out of it in one, fluid motion, allowing the chair to fall to the floor behind him. Someone protests as he stalks off down the corridor, but even that can’t pierce through the anger boiling through him. Yukio brushes past a nurse - and really, if she wants him to even pretend to pay attention then she needs to stop sounding like she’s speaking from the bottom of a lake. 

He pushes the double, swinging doors open violently, feeling a rush of adrenalin as they swish behind him. The front doors are electronic and slide open as he approaches, releasing him back into the cold night.

God _damn_ it.

Basketball cannot exist without Kise. It doesn’t matter if they never play another game together again, Yukio needs to know that somewhere Kise is smiling that moronic smile of his while perfectly copying moves that have taken other people years to get right.

When the hell did his enjoyment of basketball start having anything to do with Kise? Winning? Yes. He’s known from the moment that he first watched Kise play that he needed the other boy. But they’ve only just lost in the play-offs and Yukio should be mourning all his high school dreams and aspirations –

\- except those dreams seem so pathetic now, if it means that Kise will never be able to play again, not properly. Not like he should.

How long does it take to look over a couple of scans? 

He runs a hand roughly through his hair, collapsing onto a bench near the front door when the pacing becomes just a touch too pathetic even for him. Inexplicably, he wants a smoke. He’s never smoked in his life, thinks it’s a dirty habit that destroys your career quicker than any injury.

He drops his head down into his hands and waits.

Five hours. Six.

It’s stupid – ridiculous even – especially as a dozen people must pass Yukio as he sits there in the cooling night air. But when the doors swish open once more, Yukio recognises Kise’s familiar gait even though it is a little off-beat and hidden beneath the clank of crutches.

‘You took your time,” Yukio snorts, still hunched over the bench and his eyes narrowed into slits against the wind. Kise twists around towards him surprise, caught in a half hop that Kise tries to abort a moment too late. 

The crutches clang noisily down onto the concrete, echoing in the poorly lit parking lot. 

Yukio grunts as he barely catches Kise, acting more as a cushion than a support. Slightly dull eyes blink up at him, and then Kise is smiling with a wide sort of hero worship that has to be at least partly drug induced.

“Senpai, you are so cool.”

Yukio almost drops him. Instead, he wraps one arm awkwardly around Kise’s waist as he collects the crutches from the pavement.

“I’ll drive you home.” His car is a battered clunker, but at least if he drops Kise home he can justify spending so much on parking. Yukio doesn’t say it’s the least he can do since Kise risked his career for Yukio’s final. “You can tell me everything on the way.” 

It turns out that Kise is mostly fine. There’s damage – of course there is, only an idiot would think otherwise – but it’s nothing that some decent physio and a well-developed training schedule can’t fix. As long as Kise stays off it for the next week or so and keeps up with his medicinal regime, he’ll be fine. 

“Why didn’t your parents wait to take you home?” Yukio asks suddenly as he pulls up in front of Kise’s house, the thought only now coming to him. 

“Uh, actually...” 

There is no way this can end well. Yukio’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Go on.” It is more a threat than an invitation. 

“They’re still back at the hospital,” Kise admits apologetically. “I thought it was best to come out and check on you to make sure you were ok!” Kise tries to explain, scooting backwards in his seat as Yukio’s expression goes dangerous blank. “You know, after ... everything.”

“Do they even know you are gone?” Yukio asks, taking a perverse delight in the way his cold, calm tone seems to frighten Kise more than his usual flurry of anger. Kise’s answering laugh is uncomfortable, and breaks off mid-ha. Yukio shakes his head in disgust, tossing his cell phone into Kise’s lap. He turns his attention to the quiet world outside the car as Kise makes the call to his parents, winning them over with the same good natured ease he does the rest of the world. 

“Fine,” Yukio says abruptly when Kise hangs up. Kise turns questioning eyes on him, because Kise only ever makes a point of being clever when it makes Yukio’s life more difficult. “It’s getting easier.” He’s not particularly used to people chasing after him, especially when they have their own, bigger problems to surely worry about. The thought leaves him uneasy, and something twists unnaturally in his gut.

Yukio doesn’t say that Kise’s injury has changed the game for him forever. He’s still trying to process that, himself.

“Want to come in and watch a game?” Kise offers, quietly gauging Yukio’s reaction. Yukio certainly gives him one, his body betraying him as his hands clench into fists.

“Easier, not easy.” The stiff admission is all that Kise is going to get, but it brings a nod from the other boy.

“Movie it is then.” Kise’s smile takes on a slightly pained edge. Yukio’s neck curls back in surprise. “The doctor said it would be a good idea to have someone around to distract me when the pain killers wear off, and I can’t think of anyone better.” 

Yukio’s expression softens. Yeah. He doesn’t feel exactly like being alone, either. Kise’s smile seems like the perfect antidote right now, and Yukio can’t quite trust Kise’s own grief and pain to someone else. 

The crash on the couch in front of the TV, Kise half sprawled across him and Yukio occasionally giving the parasite a swift elbow in the ribs whenever his weight gets too much. Kise passes out before his medication wears off, leaving Yukio trapped there for the rest of the night. If Kise had been well, if Yukio hadn’t been just a little mentally battered himself, then he might have shoved Kise to the floor and been done with it.

Tonight, however, Kise still has a career and Yukio a future that exists outside of the final.

Yukio silently watches the way Kise’s chest rises with each breath. Even in sleep, Kise’s face holds onto the tension of pain of his injury. Kise’s mouth is twisted into a slight grimace and his eyelids are starting to bruise. He wants to brush all that pain away, to take it into himself so that Kise doesn’t have to carry it any longer. Instead, all he can do is trace trembling fingers across Kise’s darkened brows and sweep his bangs to the side.

This ... this is getting complicated.

 

**[Fourth Quarter]**

Graduation comes in a rush of exams and cherry blossoms. Basketball fades momentarily into the background as Yukio is forced to think of a world beyond losing the finals, one that involves colleges and family expectations. For a while Yukio understands a little what it feels like to be Kise, as it it’s difficult to function properly when not consumed by his own, seemingly endless goal. What is supposed to focus on, if not training? How he is supposed to schedule his life when there are no games to factor in? He feels lost, more edgy than usual. Incomplete. When the offers start coming in for scholarships that feeling starts to fade, but it exists just long enough for Yukio to reflect on a life that isn’t quite so dominated by basketball.

His graduation ceremony is short and anti-climactic, and Yukio feels no more complete a person by the end of it. He thinks the changes maybe came in the months leading up instead, but there is still a sense of ... lacking ... that he can’t explain. 

It pisses him off. 

“Congratulations, Kasamatsu-Senpai,” Kise says when it is all over, brushing away the blossoms that have caught in his blond hair with a smile. Yukio’s family have dispersed into the crowd, catching up briefly with friends who are also there to see their children become adults (maybe they could let Yukio in on the secret). Kise looks almost wistful, which only darkens Yukio’s mood. This is Yukio’s graduation and these are his cherry blossoms, and yet Kise is the one who looks like he’s leaving a whole lifetime behind. 

Doesn’t Kise realise that it is _Yukio_ who, who-

Yukio remembers when he first met the other boy, how his natural talent had alternatively angered and hypnotised Yukio. He remembers all those one-on-one games and two-for-one late night dinner specials, and how real Kise’s tears had been in that last, heart-breaking game. He remembers how soft Kise’s hair is to touch, and how his eyes give away emotions that his smiles try to hide. 

What he can’t remember is when Kise became just as important as those early morning practises, that perfect fade away shot, those flickering, private gazes. Right now, Yukio knows that basketball will always be a part of his life. Win, lose, professional, in his backyard – it doesn’t matter, because basketball is in his blood. Once, he’d stupidly thought that this was it, that if he didn’t win the championship then he lost basketball forever. 

Ha. 

Maybe he has grown up a little, after all.

But this ... Kise standing here and with the fucking cherry blossoms falling, for crying out loud ... suddenly this seems so final. It’s too poetic to be anything else. He wants to scream, to kick out and make it all a hell of a lot more messy, because then maybe –

The clock is counting down the last few seconds of the fourth quarter.

Bitterness settles deep into his bones, and a quiet understanding falls between them. Kise knows, a sadness colouring his eye even as his smile stays. They both know. There will be the occasional catch up, a friendly game every now and then. But it will never be like this. 

[Soft hair, gentle eyes, private smiles and stupid humour]

He can’t imagine a world where Kise isn’t in his life.

Ever since they met, Kise has always, always stolen Yukio’s breath away.

“Kise-“

Kise freezes, panic and fear and hope flashing across his features in a hypnotic dance. It’s more than Yukio expects, because Kise is always so composed in moments like this, and surely he can’t have the same mess of emotions coursing through him-

“Yukio! Are you ready?” His mother calls from the front gate, and Kise’s gaze darts over his shoulder to her before flashing back to Yukio with just a hint of desperation. 

The moment has gone, and the last siren has sounded.

“Just a moment!” he waves back, and with a nod his mother heads off to the car. Kise’s smile falters just a touch, but a knowing softness creeps into his gaze.

“It’s been a real pleasure,” Yukio says warmly, and means it. Kise dips his head politely as Yukio brushes past him, and if Yukio lingers there a moment too long – if Kise leans in against his shoulder so that the contact means that little bit more – then that is simply what good friends do when the say goodbye.

There are a hundred other things they could have said instead, but this is game over. 

At some point, you have to step off the court and concede defeat.

There are some things that Yukio is already starting to forget, the primary one being that life, like basketball, is a team sport.

The second is that Kise has always had a flare for scoring in overtime.

Calloused fingers wrap around Yukio’s forearm, and Yukio is tugged backwards, around-

Yukio has maybe, just maybe, thought about what Kise’s lips might taste like in the past, because there has to be some reason why girls tend to focus on his mouth so intently when he talks. That he has wondered whether Kise’s rare snarls taste sharper than his smiles is something Yukio cannot attribute to anyone else, because Kise keeps that fractured side of himself hidden from most of the world.

The kiss that Kise capture him in reveals that Kise’s lips don’t taste of anything. Huh. But they _feel_ ridiculous and warm against Yukio’s own, and the breath of laughter that slips in makes Yukio light headed. His brain refuses to co-operate at all, leaving Yukio at the mercy of his senses. 

When Kise steps back, it’s only fair that he takes away Yukio’s ability to speak with him. Expectation lingers in Kise’s eyes, but _words._ How in the world does Kise expect him to shape his mouth into them after that? Hell, he’s having enough trouble just forcing out the occasional, harsh attempt at a breath.

Kise’s easy smile loses some of its confidence, taking on a sharper edge that ages Kise instantly.

“Uh, that was maybe a little inappropriate?” Kise says, not moving at all but still managing to put so much distance between them that Yukio feels like he is standing at the edge of a chasm. “It’s just, you know. Graduation and cherry blossoms, and you sort of _leaving-“_

“You idiot,” Yukio mutters, cutting Kise off mid-ramble. “Typical. You never have trouble starting things, but you never know how to properly follow through.” Sensible people like Yukio make plans. Clever people like Yukio also know when and how to make things up as they go. He grabs Kise’s collar and roughly drags him down. “Now, try that again. We’ll practise until you get it _right.”_

Nobody believes in practise as much as Yukio.

And Kise? Well, he’s always been a quick learner.


End file.
